


all the water and the blood

by radialarch



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: When Laurence very carefully resumed the stroking, Temeraire made an odd purring sort of sound, and abruptly shivered all over. "I think I quite like it," he added, his eyes growing unfocused and heavy-lidded.Laurence snatched his hand away. "Oh, Lord," he said, glancing around in deep embarrassment. ... "I think you are coming into season for the first time. I ought to have realized ... it must mean you have reached your full growth."Temeraire blinked. "Oh, very well; but must you stop?" he asked plaintively.— His Majesty's Dragon, chapter 8Or: Temeraire is ill. Laurence helps.
Relationships: William Laurence/Temeraire
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	all the water and the blood

**Author's Note:**

> listen, this is a story about a man and his dragon obliquely fucking, and also feelings for some reason. i really don't know what to tell you.

“Laurence,” Temeraire said, when Laurence came up to his pavilion after lunch. “I feel strange.”

"What is it?" Laurence said, immediately alarmed. His first instinct was something physical. Thankfully, Temeraire didn't have a harness on — he normally didn't, these days — only his breastplate, and the great pearl which marked him as a _zhanren_ of the Imperial family. Hammond had worked out that compromise, as it was considered politically suspect on both sides to introduce a Chinese dragon into the House of Lords. 

But Temeraire wasn't worrying at the chain clasped around his neck, nor the torque which held the pearl; he was shivering, from nose to tail, and his sides heaved with every breath. "You are ill," Laurence said, with growing concern. What aviator could fail to be afraid, with the horror of the dragon-plague never far from memory? "I must call for Dorset."

"I don't want to see Dorset," Temeraire said in a thin, glazed voice, reaching a claw for him. "Laurence, I'm sure it's fine — I don't feel ill at all, only a little hot, and—" Another shudder went through him, and he said, "It's almost pleasant, when the wind moves," flattening his ruff, and Laurence saw with mingled shock and mortification that Temeraire's belly had sunk low, so to be nearly pressed to the floor when he twitched.

"Oh," he said, averting his eyes. "You— this is of a personal nature, then. I trust you can resolve the matter yourself—" as Temeraire had done in the past, for they often traveled without the company of female dragons— "and I shall come call on you later, when you are more in need of company."

And then William Laurence did something he had not often had cause to do in his long and tumultuous career, and fled.

* * *

Laurence had never cared to enquire into Temeraire’s habits too deeply, though from passing remarks he had cause to believe that Temeraire’s time with Mei involved rather more poetry than one might expect. He paced his room for a long time; then, unwilling to succumb to what was rapidly approaching cowardice, flung himself outdoors again. To his chagrin, Laurence’s ears were still feeling heated when he met Tharkay on the way to the pavilion.

“Have you been to speak with Temeraire?” Laurence asked. Tharkay had been very kind to them both, and he would not speak of the episode if there was no need of it. 

“He’s not at the pavilion, if that’s where you’re headed,” Tharkay said, off-hand. “Though he seems to have left half the lake in his stead. I thought I would look for him there, if you’d like to join me.”

Laurence could not decline the invitation without a great deal of churlishness, which meant they headed off the path together. He could only hope that whatever spirit had possessed Temeraire had, in the last two hours, peaceably departed.

But Temeraire, when they came upon him, seemed to have worsened. “Laurence,” he called, plaintive, his dark head rising from the lakewater, and his breaths were coming fast. “It is so hot, and I’m sure my scales were not quite this sensitive. I have tried to bear it, but— oh, I don’t understand, it was never like this, not even with Iskierka.”

Laurence threw a glance to the man next to him, but Tharkay’s expression was unreadable. “Shall I send for her?” he asked, with some awkwardness. Aviators were not inclined to be delicate, as a whole, but how to explain such a situation! But Temeraire’s wing-tips were trembling, and Laurence had learned well that he could not let his sensibilities stand in the way of Temeraire’s health.

“It would not work,” Tharkay said, sudden, “I have seen—” He cut himself off. “No, perhaps—”

But Laurence had heard. “You know what this is,” he said. “You know how to help him?”

It was a long moment before Tharkay spoke. “There is a plant,” he said carefully, “in the remote regions of Mongolia. It is sometimes used on dragons who are— intended to be bred.”

Laurence had not thought his cheeks could get hotter. “But then,” he said, pausing in confusion, “Iskierka—”

“The drug is not used in that way,” Tharkay said. “The dragons there are often confined to their own grounds by harsh weather, and the nomads have developed a system—” He halted again. 

“You need not worry about shocking my sense of propriety,” Laurence said, because Temeraire was beginning to whine under his breath. “Only tell me what needs to be done.”

Tharkay’s answering look was only faintly ironic. “The desire is to collect the sire’s spend,” he said. “The riders, being more dexterous, are able to work as the drug demands, for a large enough quantity to breed several dragons at once. They have devised a method of preserving the material for transport among various tribes—”

“I see,” Laurence said faintly, and turned to look at Temeraire, miserable, his enormous eyes half-lidded. He was shocked, certainly; but he felt it at a distance. _Tell me what needs to be done_. He had done his duty, once, faced with the curious gaze of a hatchling; he had found that the rewards did not leave him with room for regret.

“I have had opportunity,” Tharkay said, more slowly, “to witness the practice.”

Laurence understood that Tharkay was offering him something; he also understood that he could not take it. Tharkay could only have contempt for men who pretended civilization by way of another. And it had been Laurence who held the harness, when Temeraire thrust his head into it such a long time ago.

“No,” he said. “Temeraire is my responsibility — or I am his,” he added, with a grim smile. “I thank you for the help you’ve rendered, and I will not trespass further.”

Tharkay hesitated. “It is my understanding that the plant can also induce a scent or secretion of some sort,” he said, very quiet. “This affects the workers in a similar manner to that of the dragons.”

“Ah,” said Laurence, thin, but what was shame when compared to the love and trust of a dragon? “You have been very kind,” he said, and turned away, to Temeraire, the one weakness he could allow. “I would only ask one more favor: some privacy may be required.”

“Of course,” said Tharkay at last. “Think nothing of it.” When he went, it was not in his customary silent manner, but with loud, firm footsteps that clearly marked his retreat.

And then there was silence, and Laurence and Temeraire were alone.

* * *

"Temeraire, my dear, come out of the water," Laurence said, and, as the dragon slowly emerged onto the shore, was at once brought short by a failure of imagination. Having decided to embark on this course of action, Laurence had yet very little idea of how he might proceed. The only thing he remembered, with a sudden sharpness, was the moment when Temeraire had come into maturity.

Temeraire was breathing hard, the air coming out of his nostrils in short hot bursts, and his head was hung low to the ground. He looked at Laurence as he approached, with one great glazed eye. "It must have been something in your food," Laurence said, soft, soothing. "I shall certainly speak to Gong Su about it, after you are well."

"Laurence," said Temeraire, and there was a quavering note in his normally resonant voice. "I have heard you and Tharkay. I am sure I could go find Iskierka, or a dragon at the breeding grounds — not that I am not glad to have you here, but you have never— you have always sent yourself away, before." His wings were drooping, tips nearly to the ground, but what caught at Laurence was the miserable curl of his body, nearly halved in its normal size as if to protect Laurence from him. "I would not like you to do something you didn't wish."

"Dear heart," Laurence said, struck anew by Temeraire's care of him. "You are ill; you certainly cannot fly in this state." He drew closer, step by step, as Temeraire began to unwind from his tense coil. "And I should certainly be a sad aviator if I could watch you suffer and do nothing." Slowly, deliberately, he raised a hand to the curve of Temeraire's neck, above the chain which held the breastplate in place. Laurence had bought it so long ago, back when he had known nearly nothing about what it meant to captain a dragon. But he could not fault the instinct which had driven him to try to please his stubborn, beautiful, wonderful companion — and he would not draw back from it now.

He pressed his hand to the Temeraire's flattened ruff, and Temeraire gave a long, soft sigh, as if all the tension in his body had gone out of him. “Oh,” he said, pressing into the touch. “That does feel good, Laurence.”

Temeraire felt warm under Laurence’s palm, despite the coolness of the lake. Laurence stroked the water away from where it had gathered in the folds under Temeraire’s delicate membranes and found that his scales were smooth beneath, sheened with something that felt like oil under his fingers. In the light of late afternoon sun, Temeraire’s normally glossy form had gained a more complex, darker hue. Laurence did not know what to make of it; he only knew that a low, contented rumble had started from Temeraire’s chest, a steady thrum as comforting as heartbeat.

Temeraire was one long dark streak laid against the ground now, head turned to watch Laurence with half-lidded eyes. Without quite understanding what he was doing, Laurence clambered onto him, settled into the dip where Temeraire’s neck curved up. His body curled there comfortably, remembering all the times he’d flown with Temeraire without a harness, but not even the desert had felt so hot.

“Laurence,” Temeraire was calling, sharp with concern, and Laurence realized that he, too, was panting.

“Apologies,” he said, tugging at his neckcloth. Was this what Temeraire had felt? There was a heat climbing into his throat, choking him, and his clothing chafed unpleasantly against his flesh.

God, he had left Temeraire alone for hours.

“Laurence,” Temeraire said again, more urgently. “Let me help you.”

“My dear,” Laurence said, running a soothing hand down Temeraire’s neck. The touch seemed to ground him, for everything came clear at once. Temeraire’s form, fiercely alive beneath him; the trickle of sweat down his temple; the scent of something sweet, so thick it was on his tongue. “You must not worry yourself, not in your condition. Pray, tell me how you are.”

“Oh, it is lovely,” Temeraire said, with that peculiar mix of shamelessness and guilelessness he had always possessed. A ripple went through him, slow and pleased. “I wished you to be here, before, so I am glad you’ve come. Of course, it is pleasant with Iskierka, and Mei,” he added, with a sudden flick of his tail, “but you're mine."

Laurence should have chastised him for this, the typical draconic confusion of affection and ownership, save that Temeraire then added, "And I am yours, too," with an air of such tenderness that Laurence's breath went out of him.

Temeraire had changed him. Laurence could not deny it, the insistent, systematic way Temeraire had proceeded to upturn his beliefs one by one, until Laurence could no longer envision his life without a dragon in it.

“Laurence. You must stay with me.” 

A thin breeze curled around Laurence’s throat. Temeraire had brought up a claw and was, with infinite care, peeling away Laurence’s neckcloth. Laurence shuddered at the sensation; his awareness had sharpened to such keenness that pleasure and pain seemed to merge into one. 

“I am here,” he managed to say, “Temeraire, I am here.” His coat was gone, fallen away, but he could reach for Temeraire; and he did not do so out of duty, but because anything else would be unimaginable.

The scales of Temeraire’s nose were very soft, when Temeraire nuzzled at him. Laurence trembled, and held on, and found himself murmuring nonsense he would not remember a scant half-hour later: only the way Temeraire shivered at his words.

* * *

Laurence shifted, and groaned, cradled in the crook of Temeraire’s elbow, and was immediately confronted with as much solicitiousness as could fit in a dragon.

“Are you hurt?” Temeraire was fretting. “Oh, and your _clothes_. And the coat had looked so well.”

Laurence could not help but smile. “Never mind the coat,” he said. “I’m sure I have another.” He stretched out carefully, then sat up to look around. “Good Lord,” he could not help saying, with chagrin. “The estate — we shall have to have hire workmen.” 

“Workmen?” Temeraire said, puzzled. “Why should we? You will need ever so many of them, and I can still work faster.”

“Well,” Laurence said dryly. “I suppose it serves us right, to partake in the cleanup. But you’ve never been partial to that duty, my dear.”

Temeraire’s answering rumble was soft, and fond. “I shan’t like to be rude to Tharkay,” he said. “He was very kind, and he— he would have helped.”

“Yes,” Laurence said, thoughtful. “I believe he really would.”

“But let’s not talk more about him just now,” Temeraire said, with some pique. “I believe I’ve been told that’s rather impolite.” 

Laurence couldn’t help it — he laughed, and laughed, until his heart felt like it was overflowing, and let Temeraire carry him home.

**Author's Note:**

> an incomplete list of things i googled which ultimately did not make it into the fic:
> 
>   * how to award a lordship which grants entry into the house of lords
>   * chinese aristocratic titles and structure, non-military
>   * snake genitalia
> 

> 
> with apologies to the whole of mongolia.


End file.
